[You should appreciate my rare streak of attempted humor.]
When you read the title you might've thought I meant I meant the song by Cascada. Close but no, although I'm listening to it right now too.
Perhaps you also thought of some wonderful presents I got that I'd like to rub in your face. However the answer is no again, because I didn't get any present. And I'm not that bad of a person am I? AM I?
Last Christmas, I did get one thing though. A week before I met a very special person, the affection for whom I would say outmatched any emotional attachment I had to anyone else in my life. Ever. A beautiful young lady with a puffy face, clean blond hair, and cute glasses. The first time I saw her, was when I saw her art. An avid artist of animals, she is.
Two weeks after meeting her, she invited me to her house. Her father, Tom, picked us up. Tom's a dry, gruff man who used to be a carpenter. Now in his seventies he has the occasional humor, and has a sense of humor his daughter doesn't get. But I find it funny.
That night, after I met her precious rats Spaz and Xavier, why, the power went out of course! That's a developed country for you. Her, Tom and I sat in the dark for a few minutes in conversation. I mentioned my friend Richard Stanley, I forget what context it was in. She made a joke that I got, and her father didn't get, about the stereotypical Hippie; she said "Kumbaya" in that slow theatrical way, her father said "Huh?", and she said "Isn't that what people do when the power goes out for a long time? They all sit in a circle and sing peace music!"
It was a funny time. Tom went to the Cove, the local bowling alley to see if any of his friends were there. After he left, we played with the rats for a little while. And the power returned. Then we watched some of the movie Spirited Away, but Tom had to bring me home before we finished it. I got out of his car for the first time to arrive at my house, and I thanked him. An unusual moment of gratitude where I really meant my thanks and was emotionally bound to my words. This man on that night gave me the best thing I could have asked for at that time in my life; happiness. He gave me a way to get from my life, to hers, and for the next few months that was the reality her and I shared. I would go to her house, either walk the mile there and back, or Tom would pick me up. But no matter what, I always made sure I got there. Even in a blizzard. There was no stopping this elephant.
In early January, Xavier and Spaz were brought to the vet because Spaz was acting odd. It turns out that day, Xavier would die, from a seizure of anxiety at the vet's office. I was there. "Oh no!" she said, holding that little animal in her hands.Watching him thrash and convulse. Dr. Kane tried to revive him with oxygen, but without success. Xavier was dead. To my recollection I held him on the way back to her house, in his little cloth. For the next few months, Spaz was very lonely. She had an incurable eye infection that got worse, until one of her eyes went from the normal glaring red, to muddily brown and hard, and had become three times the size of her other eye. So we brought Spaz to the vet and had her put to sleep.
I really loved those two animals even though I'd only known them for a short time. And I miss them. And I miss her.
When I went to her house most days I would do any variety of things. Sometimes I would work on 3D models on my laptop while she drew sketches. Sometimes I'd watch the news and talk to Tom for a few minutes. Sometimes I'd do a multitude of things and take a nap in between. But I always made sure I was there, to see her.
I was there when the earthquake struck Haiti. I was there when Joseph Stack flew his plane into the IRS building in Austin, Texas. I was there when I first cooked my own dinner with a pan; she taught me how. Funnily enough, the first time I cooked food at her house, she was asleep for half an hour, and I was in the middle of boiling noodles when Tom walks in. I was only an acquaintance to him then, and I thought it was quite awkward to be cooking noodles on his stove, in a pan that probably belonged to him, not even knowing if she told him I was coming over. "Hey there!" I said, awkwardly. "Hello." Tom said.
I really miss those people. I loved her. I still do. "We're not connected at the hip and we never were" she once said to me. Of course, she was right... I told myself, I would wait for the rest of my life for her. I couldn't even keep that promise. And for that I feel awful. I still love her of course. She told me that in early June, and for the entirety of my high-school graduation I was depressed. But not everyone else. Everyone else has someone else. I didn't.
Last Christmas, I had not had these life experiences. I haven't really learned much since then. What I have learned is that I value people more than they value then me. Whatever the case, when people are frightful of me, it's only because they don't understand the depth of my affection for them. I wish they could. And I wish I was still in that town. At her house. With her father. I felt like I fit in there. Like I had a place that was my own, that no one else could take. I thought wrong.
And why does it offend me when people use the words "Girlfriend" or "Boyfriend"? How can you make people so generic? How can you assign them a standard title based on what they are to you? There's something about each person that is unique to them. Some individuality that cannot be determined by numbers or logic. My only mistake was, I indulged in loving this individuality, much too much. Much too much...
She was my life you know. So, besides from my prospective political career in the distant future, what am I to live for now, even when my ascension to power is not guaranteed? Many friends have abandoned me. She has left me. What's left?
Last edited by Rosennoir on 23 Sep 2010, 11:35 pm, edited 5 times in total.
21 Sep 2010, 10:29 pm
